


Inside the Music Box

by LadyVrammoryn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amélie is still married to Gérard, F/F, Infidelity, Naughty, Not actually smut; just some naughty lovers, Pre-Talon Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Romance, Romantic Fluff, erotism, mercymaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26872660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVrammoryn/pseuds/LadyVrammoryn
Summary: Overwatch operations in France made Angela and Amélie met... and they felt in love. But Amélie is still married and that deeply sorrows Angela, who appreciates her fellow Gérard and must pick between the love of her life... and a clean conscience.
Relationships: Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Dentro de la caja de música.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17892515) by [LadyVrammoryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVrammoryn/pseuds/LadyVrammoryn). 



> I wrote this story originaly in Spanish. Even if I tried my best in the past to translate my own words, I'm not able to do it. Feels so uncomfortable! So I contracted a translator. Her name's Yasmina García and she's so professional and amazing. She works with Spanish, English and German. You can contact her in twitter: @astormwithskin_

“I knew this was going to happen”, she thought while laying back slowly, her body stiff due to the amount of energy she had put into the last kiss. She felt a sharp pain on her scalp and noticed a lock of her blonde hair had become entangled with her hostess’ long hair.

They just had their hair mutually pulled.

She let a tender giggle escape her mouth, much to her regret, since the guilt had been taking away every little moment of happiness for the past three months. She tried to untangle their hair and her fingers met her hostess’ fingers. Unable to resist, she held them close to her mouth to kiss them, and then her eyes met the floor. There laid two dark, beautiful high heels. One of them stood up straight, ready for a worthy foot that was able to stand its demanding height to wear it with elegance, while the other one just laid on the floor, inviting to imagine the legs that had abandoned it there. Her sight unwillingly slipped away until it found the ankles of the owner of the expensive footwear and remembered the day that transgressive relationship had begun… the day she had introduced her lover to infidelity.

“Gérard Lacroix called me extremely worried, yet completely respectful towards my medical obligations. Overwatch had been especially necessary in Paris for some months already. As soon as I had assured Gérard I was not doing anything important, he begged me to come to the Paris Opera. It feels so long ago… how many days have gone by?” Angela contemplated her hostess stretch and relax her exquisite legs. The doctor knew how hard her calves were, the strength those thin ankles could withstand… and how soft and delicate the folds on the back of her knees and around her thighs were; how easily she could tickle Amèlie and make her protest and pout about it. She remembered how she used her own hair for such a purpose while playing a little erotic game.

“Gérard had called me because Amèlie had broken her leg. Both could deal with the substitute taking her place for some plays (which was completely understandable), but they had been told the injury would leave a permanent damage and Amèlie would never be able to dance again. I still remember her broken member bent at an impossible angle, the blood pooling and swelling the skin… It was unpleasant to witness, but I had seen that several times before. No… what was truly terrifying was the way she unflinchingly endured her pain: her face had no expression! There were only a few drops of sweat on her forehead. She looked so lonely, so isolated… like she was afraid to admit that something that was so obviously painful was affecting her. A few days later I discovered I had pegged her with that first thought: Amèlie had never been able to admit to anyone her real suffering, and because she was used to such an atrocity, she was trying to ignore the wound. My poor doll… I examined her leg and used the nanobiology I know so well to heal her. It was just like any other wound: bone fragments in places they were not supposed to be in, damaged tissues, several burst blood vessels…Once I finished, I was exhausted, and I leant on her healthy leg without giving it a second thought. I suddenly realised what I was doing, and I moved aside, apologising. That was the first time I saw the body I had been treating: the black thighs from her swan dress, the ribbons tied around that perfectly smooth and shapely skin, gently pressing her. What a breath-taking fantasy! She looked like an alluring nymph, a goddess, a Valkyrie… and, underneath the tutu, I could see with the corner of my eye the curve that disappeared under the maillot’s inseam. It was then when I looked up (blushed, I’m sure of it) to ask her how she was feeling, and I realised she had been aware of every single one of my movements, _of every single one of my thoughts_. In less than a second, I saw her enigmatic smile hiding an expression of complete despair, of needing… (you couldn’t keep hiding all that agony, right, my love?) She then asked me to grab a coffee together the next day, and that was how our affair begun.

“Girls, what is taking you so long?” asked Gérard. He was peering into the music room of the Château Guillard. He had invited Angela and other Overwatch mates to spend the weekend there, in the countryside.

“Angela’s hair was all tangled”, answered Amèlie without hesitating. The doctor lowered her head again and became aware of the presence of those incriminating high heels that Gérard seemed to not know how to interpret.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Gérard, sorry… I’m really, really sorry”, she thought. She felt that feeling of guilt spoiling yet another moment of her life.

What could she do? She had been asking herself that question for months!

Completely oblivious to the sapphic scene her wife had just been involved in with her guest, Gérard went back to the main hall, smiling. It was midday, and he was sharing a nice lunch with his colleagues and friends.

“Amèlie…”

“I know that face. You’re going to have a go at it again” understood the French woman, sad. She would not dare not to let her speak (never did). She thought she deserved a reprimand.

“What we are doing to Gérard is terrible” Angela sighed. She sat up, put her skirt where it was supposed to be, and then headed to the piano. There, on the ivory keys and backwards to the door, laid her underwear. Her mistress’ husband didn’t notice, because she had been sitting.

“Should we break up, Angela?” asked the ballerina. She was showing dignity, that serene look the high society has… hiding what the Swiss had learnt to identify as challenges: “you’re not able to leave me”.

The guest finished dressing up and extended her hand to Amèlie.

“We should, yes.”

“Command me to leave you. Tell me you do not love me. Do it in a convincing way.”

Angela drew her hand back and shrugged, uneasy.

“… I can’t.”

The hostess was left alone in the music room, trying to overcome her petrification so she could put her shoes on and join her guests at lunch.


	2. Chapter 2

Ana and Reinhardt were busy having a friendly argument. They were trying to figure out the nationality of a filmmaker, and as a result Mirembe could not stop laughing.

“It’s nice to think we have brought people from around the world together”, said Angela to herself when she saw them. Lately, she had been trying to hold on to every good feeling she identified. Suddenly, Gérard entered her field of vision… reminding her she was responsible that a hero like him was being cheated on. Acknowledging her guilt, beating herself up for putting him in that situation, she stepped aside from the conversation to use her phone. She opened her email and started to write down a confession in order to clear her conscience. Gérard needed to know the truth…

“And the truth is, this is not about sex”, she wrote after explaining the situation throughout several paragraphs. “The day after I healed her foot, she took me out for coffee. We were one opposite the other, and we talked and laughed in that Parisian coffeeshop I will never forget… And I enjoyed it, because it had been years since I had enjoyed the company of another person. It is hard to explain, the only thing that I can say that makes sense is that her words captivated me: her perspective on life (clearly haughty, but highly cultivated), about our society (both French and Swiss societies), her humanistic knowledge… But it was not that. I am not able to explain how attached I felt without being frivolous”. She stopped writing when she received a text message. It was from Amélie.

“ _Mon ange_ , look inside your pocket”, it said.

Angela complied, and felt a soft and thin fabric all crumpled. It would be better not to take it out of her pocket in front of her colleagues, because judging by the feeling, it could be her lover’s lingerie. Her face blushed, and she looked for the French woman in the garden: she was sitting and holding a glass with champagne with orange juice. She inclined the glass towards the doctor, with the corner of her mouth subtly forming a smile designed to take her breath away.

She succeeded.

The Swiss woman tried to reply to the text… but Amèlie was faster and sent a picture.

“ _Herrie…!_ ” she exclaimed. The ballerina had been posing next to the piano before coming back to the group.

… and judging by what could be seen in the picture, Angela had not been wrong to guess the fabric inside her pocket was the underwear she herself had removed from her hostess.

“Is something wrong?” asked Reinhardt. He spoke German and had understood the surprise in the expression used by the Swiss woman.

“No, no… all good. It was a wasp. I thought it was going to sting me” she improvised.

“And maybe it will. Don’t let your guard down, Doctor Ziegler” intervened Amélie.

“Ah, yes… Last year, around this time, I ended up in the hospital due to a sting” added Gérard.

Gérard, so naive and affable! Unaware of his wife’s infidelity! It hurt! It hurt so much!

“The email…” remembered Angela. She had to put an end to that.

Your wife and I developed a bond that day while having coffee. It started while I healed her, in that fleeting glance longing for company and understanding. That is what is tragic, but also the only comfort I can offer you: she has not betrayed you over a whim… _we love each other_. That day we spent the afternoon on that coffee shop. We talked, we laughed, and we were completely captivated by each other’s thoughts. We sneakily glanced at each other… I could not take my eyes off her when her lips puckered as she leant them over her porcelain cup. The hours went by, and the establishment closed.

Amelie suggested that I sleep at your place, so I didn’t have to go all the way across Paris at night, but I declined… because before she said that, she grabbed my hand in a special way. Our fingers didn’t interlace, we didn’t caress. There was not anything tempting, nothing inviting us to go forward… only a unique feeling of tenderness opposing the solitude. The opposite of darkness and suffering. I couldn’t even diagnose it, it scared me because deep down I knew what was going on! That’s why I declined… so the next day, she called me.”

Angela received another text.

“Say you need to go to the powder room, _chérie_. I will say I’m going to the kitchen. I need to kiss you” Amélie wrote.

The doctor tried to focus on writing the email, but that young and wayward French noblewomen was not going to stand being ignored.

“I need to bite your inner thighs right now, doctor. It is of the utmost importance.”

Angela tried to make the message disappear, swiping her finger left and right.

“That’s fine… ignore me. You’re way too clever not to realise I actually want to take revenge… How dare you leave without giving me my panties back, you insolent blondie?”

Against her will, the doctor smiled. She did it fondly, certain that that private joke (insolent blondie) was something they both had created. It belonged to them.

It was one of the many things they had created together.

She got another text. It was a heart, Amélie had seen her smile.

“Excuse me… I need to go to the bathroom.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, yesterday I forgot to update. Stressful day.

“Amélie, this is the third time both of us disappear in less than four hours, they’re going to notice that…!

Not knowing how, the Swiss woman was cornered against the toilet’s mirror, and receiving kisses from her hostess. She ended up sitting on the marble counter, the cold getting into her clothes.

“I can’t help it. It’s impossible to have you nearby and not touch you… it’s torture. Maybe you’re not _un ange_ , but _un démon succube_?

“Put your underwear back on…” the Swiss woman gave the lingerie back to its rightful owner, who laughed.

“You put them back on”, she suggested playfully. “It was you who took them off”

“Amélie, please! I can’t go on with this! Doing all this in your husband’s home is… is just awful!”

“This château has been in my family for generations.”

“You know what I mean!”

“And so do you: you know what I want right now, and you’re not giving it to me.”

“Earlier you asked me to command you to stop this.”

“I will not allow you to do such thing.” The French woman’s hand covered Angela’s mouth. “I’ve seen you smile while reading my messages… and I love you for that. I love you a thousand times more than I did that first day at the infirmary, while you looked at me that way…”

The doctor put her head back. Amélie had given in to her hobby of braiding both their hair together to see how the brunette mixed with the blonde, fantasizing with that metaphor of their union.

“I remember perfectly, sweetheart…”

“And, in fact, I remembered that while writing the email. How was I supposed to tell Gérard it was him who brought us together? However, I think that in that first moment I only wanted you. But the next day, I already loved you. I loved when our hands came together while we said goodbye. That frightened me… so much that I didn’t agree to see you alone, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand it, I knew I would do something disrespectful towards your marriage. And still… _I wanted to see you_. That’s why I took advantage of the fact that I still had pending business in Paris and went to look for you at your ballet rehearsals at the conservatory. The first days you only did simple rehabilitative exercises; you finished early and found me outside, on the staircase, nervously waiting for you with coffee and lazy excuses so I could scrape a few more seconds by your side. Holding hands became an unavoidable tradition (everything seemed so sparkly for the first time ever!). And one day, your leg was healed… You were obsessively rehearsing your choreography for the thousandth time. I didn’t know because I was outside waiting, alone. It became extremely late, so I came inside, cold coffee in hand, and I found you dancing by yourself in that hall illuminated by the evening light. To me you were always beautiful, but while you danced… you looked like the doll inside the music box I had when I was a little girl. The effigy that made me question whether the feminine charm was something to aspire to, or _to love_. It was then when you saw me and smiled. You asked me how long I had been staring, and I could only tell you the truth: “two weeks”. You understood what I meant; you knew that was the time that had passed since I healed your broken leg. You took my hand to get me out of there and that day I finally went to your house, just like you wanted. Everything happened like in a tornado, and the only thing I am sure of, is that we spent the whole night kissing in front of the fireplace.

“What’s on your mind?”

“It’s… nothing.”

Angela wrapped her arms around Amélie. She kissed her. She knew her mouth so exactly, she knew where she should touch with her tongue, and where not… Depending on the result she hoped to obtain. She had learnt that the first night in front of the fireplace but had perfected it with the time.

“And then day broke. It was the only time we didn’t say a single word while being together. How many kisses fit in so many hours? Suddenly I felt the need to apologise. I felt ridiculous for having spent hours rolling on the soft skin on the floor, holding onto your hips. You laughed… but with bitterness. You said I shouldn’t worry about “corrupting you” or whatever, that you had always been a lesbian… but your family forced you to marry and maintain the appearances. That was the secret I sensed two weeks prior, the reason behind your isolation. Then it was my turn: I told you about my lack of experience despite my age because I had always been focused on my career. The studies, the thesis… I told you about my time at university, experimenting with both genres but without much interest and systematically going back to my books, believing I was asexual. I didn’t feel attracted to anyone, no one made fall in love. You listened to everything I said while praising my intellect, my career and my adhesion to Overwatch… but it was then when your attitude changed. You started to attractively take pride in your dilated experience with our genre… you had been with other ballerinas, actresses and opera singers… and obviously wanted to appropriately instruct me, now that you were aware of my background as a prodigal student. And I accepted… just as I am accepting right now.”


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the morning was calm. Amélie kept sending text messages to Angela with the intent of sneakily looking at her smiles, but the pictures and the taunting stopped.

Inevitably, they sat together during lunch.

“Doctor Ziegler, did you ever try this?” asked Amélie approaching a fork with _coa au vin_ to her guest.

“What is it?” inquired the Swiss woman, who was unconsciously projecting how comfortable she felt in the company of the ballerina. She could not help it. Oddly enough, the effect on the group was positive.

“I will tell you if you taste it.”

“Another one of your games?” thought Angela with a smirk.

“Go on.”

The French woman leant over the plate. Her breast grazed her interlocutor’s arm.

“Taste it _from here_ , doctor” she indicated, fully aware that the doctor was ignoring the plate and focused almost exclusively on her graze. “You’ll find it melts in your mouth…”

“The smell is divine…” muttered the Swiss woman, deeply breathing. She could have not said a word about the stew but grasped the smell of Amélie’s skin. The subtle fragrance of her shampoo, the Argan oil with which she softened her hair ends… the hint of roses from the tonic she applied to her face after taking a shower (how many times had she seen her applying it completely spellbound, captivated by the way her face shone after sharing a shower together?).

“The habit makes me not perceive the smell. Come on, _it’s all yours_.”

“Yes…” blushed by the French woman’s veiled insinuation, Angela picked up with her tongue the sauce that oozed from the meat in the fork. She had trouble to swallow it as a hand rested on her thigh hidden underneath the table… it gave her that feeling of togetherness, it insinuated that the conversation would have a second part.

“And what was it? You didn’t say” asked Jack.

“Uh… goose meat” explained the ballerina, suddenly listless.

Both lost interest in the conversation and kept holding hands underneath the table. Someone talked about the Louvre and, gradually, the day came to its end. Angela still felt the apprehension, the guilt… feelings that had not abandoned her for the last few months. She suspected they would not until the relationship’s nature changed. Nevertheless, she could not come up with how to do so. What could she do? She had already talked about it with her beloved, she knew her point of view… She thought about that in her bedroom’s balcony. She was under the stars, contemplating the countryside while the moonlight fell on her head… The firmament shone lividly the way it only does away from the pollution of the big cities.

Annecy was nice.

“The things will still be the same: you said it. I was madly in love with you, I would have done anything. I wanted to tell Gérard what was going on (and I still want to) but you prevented me from doing so… you said you would lose everything (how would I make you go through such disgrace?). Your family would disown you; you would lose your home and you were sure (still are) that the ballet company would expel you because of family friendships, contacts and image. I offered you what I have: we could move to Switzerland, away from your bad memories, I would help you improve your German, you could keep dancing ballet. Your life would be different, but it would include the truth, freedom, and me… and you don’t want to. You think you will lose everything, but… goddammit Amélie… you don’t have anything! Can’t you see that? You don’t have an identity! You are denied of it! And because of that, I don’t have anything either! Horrible feelings, the heart about to burst from the pain, a lump in my throat, pain in my chest every time I breathe! Fuck, fuck…!

Angela threw a punch to the balustrade from where she was contemplating the huge garden.

“Is something wrong, _mon ange_?” asked the French woman. She emerged from the shadows with catlike agility. She had climbed up to the balcony using the lattice.

“Are you nuts? If you fell from here, you could get killed.”

“Come… let’s go, quickly.”

Ignoring her with the fickleness that characterised her decisions, Amélie climbed down to the ground. She waited for Angela to come down, took her hand and ran through the countryside under the cover of darkness.

They entered a small building that seemed to belong to the Guillard estate.

A door opened; a dim glow met the blue eyes of the Swiss woman. She soon discovered herself inside a small yet modern home.

“One of my ancestors had this house built. She despised sleeping with her husband, oh… she loathed it, believe me. This is where she spent her days. She used to call it “the maiden house”. Inexplicably…no one suspected why.” She guided Angela through the narrow quarters and took her to a bathroom with a huge bathtub embedded in the floor. The marble and earthenware slabs mixed masterfully, only interrupted by the golden sparkles of the modern bathroom fixtures. Dozens of candles lightened the room.

Minutes after, both were immersed in the water, slippery and filled with bubbles, on the huge bathtub. Angela had her arms extended backwards while the French woman kissed her neck and caressed her body. Amélie was sitting astride on her lover’s legs and cuddled against her chest languidly, alternating her mouth’s and hand’s actions.

“I love you, _chérie_ ” she whispered between the scented steam.

“So do…ah!” the Swiss woman’s answer was interrupted as she had her nipples softly bitten. Amélie had pressed her breasts together so she could tend to them both with her mouth. “…I…, I love you too. A…ah… Amélie…! Ugghhh…

The French woman changed positions to interweave her thighs with her beloved’s. She held the edge of the bathtub with both her hands and made her sex caress Angela’s under the water. It did not take long for the Swiss woman to completely melt due to those movements. With her head thrown back and the blonde hair spread all over the floor, she begged her partner for a small truce with a thread of voice.

“I think you’re a nymphomaniac…” she whispered still shaking after the orgasm.

“How could I not be one when I’m by your side?” replied Amélie. She washed the remaining soap and oils off her body using the tap and wrapped her up with a towel. She took her out of the bathtub. “I brought chocolate; I know you love it. I’m guessing you’re not hungry now but… _Oh là là_! It turns out you are…

Angela had kneeled to return the bathtub’s favour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week I'm not late. ^^


	5. Chapter 5

Warm under a blanket, Angela and Amélie curled up in the living room of the “maiden house”. Dawn came in and soon they would have to go back to their rooms, so they squeezed the most out of their time hoping to fall asleep there… together.

“I have a gift for you, _mon ange_.”

“I thought we talked about spending money, Amélie” Angela had received a gift from Amélie only once before… and she felt terribly bad about it. She could not explain whether she felt bought or overwhelmed by the white gold bracelet, but the feeling had been negative. “I don’t want your fortune, my love, because that’s why you keep turning your back on me.” Fortunately, communication was her strong suit, and they sort it out in the moment.

“You offend me, Angela. Why don’t you trust me?” replied the ballerina.

“Oh, come on… don’t pout.”

“I don’t!” protested Amélie, cheerfully, nevertheless. She stood up on the sofa and laid both hands on her own knees…, vulnerable in a way. “Angela… These days I couldn’t stop thinking about what we share. It may sound absurd, but I feel this is the first time in my life I am truly in love. I think… I think at some point the dance and the opera have taken the backseat. And I…

“You’re gonna do it!!” screamed Angela jumping on Amélie. She wrapped her arms around her slender figure and rolled between the sofa and the blanket until they were completely entangled and with their faces together. “Oh, doll!”

“ _Crévindiou_ …!” exclaimed the French woman. She cleared her throat while trying to recover her aristocratic demeanour. “You have no patience at all, insolent blondie.” She held the doctor’s chin between her fingers and made her look at her.

Angela kissed her nose.

“A penny for your thoughts, madame Guillard. I am your humble servant…” joked Angela, holding Amélie’s hands.

She looked away for an instant to look for the shoes: the ballerina always left one standing and the other one laying on the floor… and, for some reason she could not explain, she found that irresistible. “Ask for it and I shall kiss those high heels.”

“I will tell Gérard our marriage is over on Monday night. I know he will not want to make our breakup into a war. I will keep our relationship a secret to spare him from that pain, but I will explain to him that I fancy women and the reason why I had to marry him. I don’t know what I will tell my family… but, anyway, the divorce will make me lose everything.” Her voice suddenly became a pitch higher and let out a squeak. “You understand, _chérie_!?” We will be together at last!”

“Oh… yes…” Angela had an unpleasant feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“I will bring the chocolate I was telling you about to celebrate, okay?”

“Sure…”

Amélie served a patisserie tray full of small selections of different types of swiss chocolate. She also opened a bottle of wine. She could feel something was wrong with Angela, who remain silent and with a blank stare… unravelling one of the edges of the blanket.

“Chocolates?” asked the French woman.

“No… thanks.” She had a sip of red wine

“Something’s wrong… Angela.”

“No…”

“It wasn’t a question: you never say no to chocolate.” Amélie sat on the sofa, taking that vulnerable pose again, with her hands laying on her legs. She sighed. “I do whatever I can, Angela. I’m completely lost. My whole life I’ve been wondering why I should erase a part of me, feeling guilty because the only way I could feel like myself was by acting like an insensitive woman, a liar who acts covertly… an adulterous woman. I even felt that way: perverted, monstrous… You, on the other hand, make me realise someone with my desires can be an angel… And I want to live up to your goodness… And now that I’ve finally found the courage to stop feeling despicable… I see you like this, depressed. What am I doing wrong, my love?”

“You’re not doing anything wrong!” Angela immediately grabbed Amélie’s hand and kissed her fingers, but she was looking at the floor. “It’s just that… I know what I’m about to say is awful, but… Will I be enough for you? Won’t this happen again, like it did with Gérard…?”

The ballerina took a sip of wine. She had two options: she could blame Angela for feeling insecure, be shocked by the accusation…

…or she could feel grateful that her lover would be willing to share with her such unpleasant thoughts so their bonds of trust would not debilitate. And the thing is that those suspicions, those thoughts could be irrational… but they made up the fears of the person she loved, and it was her duty to help her diminish and quieten down those thoughts as much as she could.

“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t…I…” Angela began apologising.

Amélie softly pulled her and cuddled her against her chest.

“I am aware of what I’ve done to Gérard. If at some point you’ve thought I was being frivolous it’s because I’ve tried by all means to evade reality so I wouldn’t go insane… to try to see myself less as a perverted person who has to hide what she does because she is obscene and more as a special case unrelated to morality. I don’t know whether I am or I am not, I think not, but I could never love Gérard. Even so, I wish the best for him because he has always treated me well and I want to help him as much as I can through the divorce. I am not bad, _mon ange_ , and you know it. I love you. And once I am free, if I ever stop loving you… I will let you know. I will not have ties that will make me be by your side, so I will always be with you because I love you. You understand, _chérie_? You understand that I love you?”

“Oh…of course I understand… Forgive me for…”

“Don’t apologise. I would rather you tell me how you feel, Angela, so I can comfort you.” She kissed her sweetly on the lips.

“I love you, Amélie.”

“I love you too, Angela. On Monday night we will start again from scratch, together.”


	6. Chapter 6

Sunday went by between yawns for both lovers. They felt a strange mix of peace and excitation that they were not able to control. Impatience overcame them. At night, all the Overwatch agents said their goodbyes to the Guillard-Lacroix family and left the château to go back to their respective Parisienne accommodations as they still had work to do there.

On Monday, Amélie disappeared.

Angela was tending to the wounded in the area her team (made by her, Torbjörn and Kimiko) oversaw when she received a call from Gérard. She picked up her phone with an access of fear at the irrational thought that she had maybe sent by mistake the email she started writing at lunch… after all, she had not deleted it from her drafts.

“Yes…?”

“Angela, I’m on my way home because Amélie hasn’t showed up at her rehearsal at the opera and no one is able to reach her. She isn’t answering her phone… I don’t know what happened, I did some calls, and it turns out no one from the service has seen her leave the house.”

“Ah…, and… and why are you calling me?”

“You’ve become friends.” The doctor gulped. “I wanted to know if maybe she has told you something like that she’s sick or… I don’t know… or…

“Yes… Gérard?” Her heart was about to stop. She could understand her lover’s panic when it came the time to confess the truth.

“She said she wanted to talk to me tonight. I thought… maybe… she’s pregnant.”

“What!? No!!!” the Swiss woman was outraged.

“Angela?”

“S-sorry. No, I mean… She drank some alcohol during the weekend. Your wife wouldn’t do such thing if she knew she was pregnant.” She improvised.

“Oh… sure. You’re right. I… I’m going home.”

“Call me once you get there, Gérard.” She hung up the phone and her mind wandered off. “Maybe Amélie has gone to my accommodation to look for me? Is she afraid? Maybe she’s arranging some paperwork with her family…?” She turned to her colleagues. “I have to go… this is more or less under control.”

“Did something happen, kid? You look pale since you’ve answered the phone.” Asked Torbjörn.

“No… no.”

* * *

Angela went back to her room when the sun was rising. She had ten minutes before having to go to work, and she had not slept at all.

She held back the tears, amazed she still had any left.

That morning signs of struggle were found in the Guillard-Lacroix home, and Gérard had associated them with Talon’s modus operandi. He called her just as he had promised he would do and, when she heard that, the doctor went to the crime scene. There she tried to find something among that little chaos that would help her… She strongly believed Amélie had left some type of clue that only she would be able to comprehend. She could not explain to her lover’s husband the reason she was there; she could not come up with an excuse… and she did not find anything either. She left the house and swept the area surrounding the building, wandered the neighbouring streets looking for the tiniest clue… “Has she disappeared into thin air?” The happiness had been so close, it finally seemed like life could be fair for Amélie and… Talon had kidnapped her. It got dark, and then nightfall came. Angela felt like her heart could explode from the pain and the fright in any moment. “If I feel like this, what will she be feeling? What are they doing to her right now!?” Each time she began to flag in her unsuccessful night search she imagined her beloved being tortured for some information she surely did not possess. She could practically envision her screaming in agony, crying in despair over the tortures from the perverse criminal organisation… and the adrenaline reinvigorated her body in order to continue with her job and bloated her mind a bit more.

That night she could not find anything.

Captain Amari asked her some questions when she saw her working in the laboratory with dark circles and sore eyes. Angela avoided it however she could; she argued that the security problem had been keeping her from sleeping and that she was looking for a solution. She was still shaken. She turned to the IT department and the labs seeking for help. Of course, the whole Overwatch was already working in the search of Amélie and her rescue… so her agitation was more of a hindrance than a help.

She did not suggest anything the organisation had not put into effect already.

“You’re a mess, Angela” said commander Reyes, alerted of the Swiss woman’s strange behaviour. Her eyes sparkled as they flooded with tears: she knew he was a good friend of Gérard. “Go take a shower and then sleep. Your fixation on saving lives is going to prevent you from keeping yours. Listen, I’ve come here to reach out to Winston. He is in Gibraltar but can help us because he has access to the satellites in the Horizon Lunar Colony. He will give us an aerial trace of what happened all over the city on Monday morning. It will be more useful than your whining.”

“Y-yes…” agreed Angela. She took her lab coat off and left it on the hanger.

“Hey… keep your gun within reach these next few days. Okay? Just in case.”

“I will. Thanks, Gabe.”

“Get some rest, Angie.”


	7. Chapter 7

Amélie had been missing for five days. Angela had gone through different phases of desperation after giving in with her street search (which included a horrible episode of dipsomania and the worst hangover she ever had) before shutting herself away at the lab: she could not waste her time crying, drinking or trying to palliate her headache… It was the time to put into practice a project she had been postponing for too long. After several consultations to Torbjörn and some help from one of his nice daughters (Brigitte), Angela had a suit ready with the abilities of gliding and strengthening her nanobiological resources thanks to the tech she had incorporated. She named it as Valkyrie. She tested her creation on the training fields from the French base and spent the following days exploring the areas Gabriel and Winston seemed to think relevant in the search.

One afternoon, withstanding an awful stiffness due to having to stay upright during the gliding with Valkyrie, the Swiss woman found a warehouse that met all the requirements Talon needed for his bases… and was very close from the field of action that had been drawn thanks to the Horizon satellites. She alerted her colleagues before entering through a window with her gun in one hand and the staff shaking with instability in the other.

The place was empty…

… except for Amélie. Angela got to her and started applying her miraculous healing. However, her beloved was perfectly well… only dirty and dazed.

The reinforcements arrived quickly, and Gérard snatched her girlfriend from her hands.

For an instant, a strange smile decorated the ballerina’s thin and meaty mouth (that mouth that used to pout so dearly). Angela wanted to believe it was a complicity grin to her, and that is how it was recorded in her mind.

Gérard’s wife was taken to the Overwatch laboratories, where the entire medical team made sure she was in good condition.

* * *

“Amélie… what have they done to you?” asked Angela as soon as they were left alone.

“They scared me and that’s about it. They were keeping me hoping to use me to get to Gérard. You know they have tried to kill him several times.”

“Yes… I know.”

“They have deals with Italy. This I have already told Gérard and Commander Morrison, but not you: they screwed up and the Italians are looking for them. They’ve abandoned France and they left me back like a goddamn rag.

“I feared that… that you’d been tortured. But they didn’t touch you.”

“I’m fine. But… Do you remember our plan to start our life together?”

“Yes.”

“It’s postponed. These are not the days for Gérard to be distracted with a divorce.”

“Of course! Darling, don’t think about that now. Think about yourself, in being well and taking care, in recovering…”

The Swiss woman took the hand of her interlocutor. She rejected it.

“I have to take care of Gérard, Angela. They’re after him.”

“S-sure.”

* * *

That night, Angela slept all the time she had not slept the previous days. She rested. Still, in her dreams she could see the ballerina repeatedly rejecting her hand. Her inopportune smile… After being the victim of a kidnapping, could one show such expression of satisfaction? She wrote her a text on the early morning, and she received as an answer a kiss emoji first thing in the morning.

Angela recorded herself wishing her good morning. Amélie did not answer.

A week after, the doctor had made numerous calls to her beloved, but none of them had an answer… And she was barely able to taste the food. Her colleagues could see the change in her behaviour and thought it was some kind of anxiety disorder. They sent her to the organisation’s psychologist, and she ended up having to take a leave of absence for a few days so she could rest.

She still was not eating and having nightmares.

“Is this how we break up…? Am I making a big deal out of it? Before you always tried to put my fears at ease, try to spend time with me… I wish I could do the same for you, my life: it is obvious you’ve had a traumatic experience. Maybe Gérard instils more confidence than me…? You think you’d be safer if you stay with him? No!! That’s not who you are… Anyway, you wanted to protect him. Wait, is that it? You want to protect him? But then… That would mean you know about a specific danger hanging over him…” she concluded with horror. “You know something about Talon, and you can’t reveal it. You’re trying to control the situation so you can save us all. Yes… It makes sense because you care for him: that’s why you’ve chosen to remain by his side for some more time, only until you make sure that he’s safe. And… Of course… You love me. Right? You believe that if I’m away I won’t be hurt… Then, what is this danger? What is it that you know!?”

But Angela was not able to come to a conclusion. She kept writing to Amélie every day to show her support and affection… without any answers.

The night that marked two weeks from the rescue, Angela woke up from a nightmare with two extremely specific words on her mind: Stockholm Syndrome.

Could Amélie be covering Talon… Maybe because she was psychologically shattered? Was the torture that doctor was so afraid of mental instead of physical? Of course! That is why there were no wounds to heal…!

“That smile wasn’t a smile of complicity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left! I hope you liked this fic so far. ^^ See you next Wednesday.


	8. Chapter 8

Two cold, willowy figures hid among the shadows of the rooftops. Two pairs of arms intertwined languidly with each other. Their heads came together for a second, and then both silhouettes emerged to the night lights: under the light they resembled ice sculptures, as both of them had an unusual blue halo around their body. A cold, dangerous halo.

… except it was not a halo: their skin _was_ blue.

“I’ll try from here, _chèrie_.”

“Go ahead.”

One of the figures kneeled. She loaded her sniper rifle and contemplated with empty, yellow eyes the scenery that descended underneath her feet. She went over the variable aspects of physics that could intervene in her mission (wind, distance), and after a few moments she nodded: she was positioned in the perfect spot. She raised her eyes to pass on the confirmation to her colleague with a brief nod, but she could not stop there and smiled. A spark of the love that would unite them together lighted her eyes. She felt like she was burning from pure love when looking at Angela’s blond hair, pale and almost snow-white under the moonlight… all messy with a wild touch after the fight with all the London guards they both just gunned down; her eyebrows (just as pale as her hair, the same with her eyelashes) leaned in an unanimated line… until their eyes met. Those eyes that were azure in days gone by and that had acquired a crimson shade due to the neural reconditioning and the multiple physiological alterations, practically boiled overwhelmed with devotion, with the most absolute adoration. All of that mixed with the way the remodelled and improved demonic-Valkyrie enhanced the doctor’s charms.

“You’re gorgeous…” whispered Widowmaker.

“Hurry up, I’m having some ideas that will not do Talon any good, up here alone.”

The sniper bit her lips.

“I’m sure they’re perverse ideas, typical of a fallen angel.”

“Or an insolent blondie.”

“Widowmaker, Fallenangel, you have an open shooting line” intervened a voice that sounded more tired than irritated.

Silent, once again lifeless like cordless automatons, they went back to their positions. Amélie kneeled again and arranged the sniper rifle to aim. The Swiss woman revelled looking at the muscles in her beloved’s legs (her cold, eternal beloved) getting tense in accordance with her rough movements. She exhaled at the sight of her butt tightened by the pink fabric… she was no longer a gracefully shaped ballerina, now she was an assassin, trained to kill. The fight slightly enhanced her strength, hardened her shape.

“Uhh…”

Widowmaker stretched forward to peer a bit more into the urban abysm… and that movement made the leotard to get compressed between her buttocks. The fabric edges slipped, leaving some skin exposed to the doctor’s captivated red eyes. Suddenly, Angela’s hips pressed against that smooth ass. She wrapped her arms around Amélie’s back and pulled her neckline to strip her chest naked. The London cold caressed them before Fallenangel’s fingers, but it could not compete with the ability her fingers showed when they started caressing them mercilessly.

“I can’t do it like this, _chérie_ ” whispered the sniper.

“I don’t care; right now, I can only think of kneading _these two_ until they get their pink colour back…” she tightened her hands slightly.

“THE SHOOTING LINE IS STILL OPEN! KILL MONDATTA, _ÓRALE_!

“Ah, please…” Angela did not stop. “It’s not like you weren’t staring at us that day in the lab, Sombra.”

An argument could have started… if it were not for the intervention of a new voice.

“Trying to crash another party, lo…?” Tracer found the doctor’s gun against her forehead; the experiments that had dyed her iris red had the objective of incrementing her perception and her reflexes enough to make her a combat doctor able to dodge bullets in the middle of a battle. That is how she would be able to properly assist her Talon’s colleagues.

“I’d say you’re crashing our party.”

The Swiss woman turned around while crouching, the demon’s tail (decorated with a white gold bracelet) moved with her and hit the British hero on the back of her knees. During the time she struggled to avoid a complete fall, Fallenangel changed her gun for the Caduceus Staff and used it to hit her enemy in the head.

The hit left her unconscious.

“What should we do with her?” asked Widowmaker, standing and with her chest still uncovered. Her skin still palpitated, flushed with the Swiss woman’s caressing.

“I’ll remove this shit from her” Angela kicked the chronal accelerator, “while you keep up with your part. That will teach her not to try to attack you… No one will hurt you under my watch, my little doll.”

“It feels like it was yesterday when I woke up in the middle of the night thinking you were suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. I told myself you needed urgent psychological help… I feared for you so much I got out of bed and turned up at your house: everything was closed, the service was sleeping… Same as Gérard. That was normal… my watch read 2 a.m. I tried to use the old Valkyrie (that with the angelical look) to glide up to your bedroom… and then I discovered you aiming at Gérard with a gun. I took the weapon, I remember we struggled for it for a few seconds that felt eternal and agonic because you were stronger than me… but I have never been short on ideas: I pulled the trigger and the noise woke Gérard up. It worked. You tried to pretend you knew nothing and that I was the one attacking you… and you almost made it. That’s why while he was kicking me out of your bedroom you shot. When I wasn’t able to save his life, I knew… I knew my time as a doctor was over. I was tired of all the deaths caused by Overwatch. I was sick of my participation in the war… I was… broken. But you still loved me, that’s why you took me with you. The neural reconditioning didn’t erase what you felt for me; later I found out they only were able to force you kill Gérard because you didn’t love him. Things would’ve been very different if they forced you to kill me… Maybe you would’ve died due to the shock, or they would have disabled your brain permanently. You took me to Talon, you argued in favour of my technological advances and I underwent the same treatment you underwent. There was no other solution… We’ve been together every single day of our lives ever since. We were together when you lost Ana Amari and I healed your wounds so we could track down her faint body and finish her off. We were together in the museum when we got the gauntlet back… We’re still together now, while we banish Tracer, and _we will always be_.”

“I love you, Amélie.”

A gunshot was heard. It caused commotion among all the attendees to the talk. Mondatta had fallen.

“I love you too, _mon démon_. Let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this. =)

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be updating this story on Wednesdays. Have a nice week and remember to wash your hands and drink enough water. =)


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